


The One Where Femme!Ten and Femme!Simm!Master Have Totally Gratuitous Strap-On Sex On A Pier

by tweedymcgee



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, Gender or Sex Swap, Rule 63, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:50:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tweedymcgee/pseuds/tweedymcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. A fill for a prompt on the best_enemies kinkmeme. </p><p>N.B.: There's some noncon talk in here, but no actual noncon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Femme!Ten and Femme!Simm!Master Have Totally Gratuitous Strap-On Sex On A Pier

She found the Doctor just where she said she'd be -- at the end of a long wooden pier jutting out from the south bank of the river, leaning on the rail with a melancholy slump to her shoulders. Still wearing that stupid jerry-rigged perception filter, as though it would make a difference. As though the Master couldn't find her anywhere, on any world, in any form she cared to take.  
  
"You're late," said the Master, joining the Doctor, and casually resting her black-gloved hands on the railing. A gust of wind blew her woolen coat open for a moment, revealing a flash of crimson satin lining, and a pair of gleaming knee-high boots under a pair of black breeches.  
  
The Doctor turned toward her, the light from a passing barge illuminating one side of her face, casting her sharp features into even more acute relief. One eyebrow arched imperiously. "I'm late? Oh, that is rich. I've been waiting an hour."  
  
"You're forty-seven years, six weeks, three days, fifteen hours and eight minutes late," said the Master. "But who's counting, Doctor?" She fixed the Doctor with a sudden, disarming smile, a jolly cartoon shark.  
  
The Doctor shifted uncomfortably, and turned to watch the barges once more.  
  
"Don't worry, Doctor, I don't intend to spend all evening contributing to your massive pile of massively boring guilt," said the Master. "I've got much more fun things in mind."  
  
The Doctor's eyes flickered toward the Master. "I thought we should talk," she said, weary. "I'll listen, I promise. Whatever you have to say."  
  
"Bloody hell," said the Master. "I've gone and left my villainous You Can't Stop Me monologue in my other trousers. I had it all planned out, too."  
  
The Doctor turned to face her, earnest and pleading. "You don't have to do this. I'll go with you, Master, I'll unlock the TARDIS, we can go anywhere. Barcelona. Felspoon. We can start over again. Or we can fight across the stars. Just --"  
  
"Felspoon," the Master, cut in, bored. "I'll just give up being Prime Minister, then, drop poor old Lewis on his daddy's doorstep, disassemble all my naughty evil plans, grab a beach towel and be off to  _Felspoon_. With  _you_. Thrilling."  
  
The Doctor sighed.  
  
"Oh, cheer up, Doctor," said the Master. "Isn't this fun? The two of us. Last of the Time Lords. Locked in ceaseless battle for the destiny of billions of lesser beings. Just like old times." The Master laid a gloved hand on the Doctor's shoulder blade, and felt the other Time Lord's tall lean body tense under her fingers.  
  
"Kosch--" the Doctor began again. Quick as a snake, the Master's other hand came up to cover the Doctor's mouth.  
  
" _Shut up_ ," she hissed. "Rassilon, you never stop talking." The Master propelled the Doctor backward, one gloved hand sliding down to seize the Doctor's wrist and the other at her throat. The Doctor was taller, but the Master was stronger and more forceful than she looked, and she seized the upper hand with predatory ease, pressing the Doctor's back against the railing. The Doctor made an incoherent sound and clutched at the railing, casting a glance over her shoulder to see how far down the water was.  
  
"There, that's better," said the Master, smug as a cat, leaning in harder, pressing her body against the Doctor's.

The Doctor relaxed for a moment, looking almost wistful -- then suddenly startled, and began to splutter. "Master. You're not, you're not, seriously you're not  _packing_."  
  
"No, Doctor, I  _grew_  it," the Master said, rolling her eyes, and grinding her hips a little more forcefully against the Doctor's. "Of course I am. What did you think we were going to do, hold hands and count the stars?"  
  
"I -- Master --"  
  
"Oh, come on, you precious prude, I've been waiting four regenerations for this," she snarled. "Do you have any idea how bloody hard it is for the Prime Minister to get into a sex shop in Soho without being photographed?"  
  
The Doctor protested incoherently. "We can't just -- after all this -- Master, really --"  
  
"This is what's going to happen. I'm going to fuck you," said the Master, matter-of-factly. "I'm going to fuck you, I'm going to make you shake and cry and scream my name, I'm going to make you come harder than you've ever come in your life, and then I'm going to do it again. I can force you, if you like. Imagine, one thing in the universe that wasn't your fault."  
  
"You're disgusting," said the Doctor, eyes narrowing.  
  
The Master smiled and let go of the Doctor's wrist and throat, tilting her face up in a winsome mock-pout. "Doctor," she said. "You wound me."  
  
"We're on a pier. With -- with people on it," said the Doctor, resolve weakening.  
  
The Master thrust one hand into the inside pocket of the Doctor's voluminous trenchcoat, and came up with the sonic screwdriver. She seized the perception filter still dangling from the Doctor's neck, pointed the screwdriver at it, and pressed a button. "There," she said, tucking the screwdriver back into the Doctor's pocket. "Radius increased to three point seven meters."  
  
The Doctor looked down at the Master with a thousand years of longing in her great, sad, liquid eyes.  
  
"Fucking kiss me already," said the Master, and the Doctor bent down to her, long pale hands reaching to cup her face. The Master moaned into the Doctor's mouth, running black-gloved fingers through her short, messy hair.  
  
The Doctor's hands slid down the Master's throat to her collarbone, where her shirt made a V, and began fumbling with a button. "Oh, no you don't," said the Master. "Not yet. Off with this, you." The Master tugged at the trenchcoat, and the Doctor shrugged it off, letting it pool around her feet. The Master's coat soon joined it, followed by the black gloves.  
  
The Master slid one bare hand up to the nape of the Doctor's neck, clever, stroking, and felt the Doctor shudder. She sank her nails into the back of the Doctor's neck, and the Doctor's mouth on hers became greedy and urgent. Such a mouth this one had; so many possibilities. But the Master had a more pressing agenda. She moved her hips in a slow roll, rubbing the toy she'd brought for the occasion against the Doctor's thigh with brash insolence, and chuckled when it made the Doctor gasp.

" _Turn around_ ," she said, the words heavy with hypnotic command. The Doctor pulled back and glared down at the Master, resisting. It was delicious. " _Do it. Obey me_."  
  
The Doctor grudgingly obliged, leaning on the railing once more and gazing out at the river. "I don't see why you've always got to be the -- "  
  
"Oh, shut it, you," the Master said. "You'll get your turn. If you can still move by the time I'm done with you." She seized the Doctor's hips and cast an admiring look at the pert pinstriped view.  
  
The Master planted a knee between the Doctor's thighs. "Bend over. More. There, right there, just like that," she said, running her hands roughly along the sides of the Doctor's waist where it flared into the curve of her hips. She tugged the tail of the Doctor's shirt out of her trousers and snaked a hand into her waistband, shoving her hips into the Doctor from behind. The Master's searching fingers sank into a soft tangle, worked their way down into sweet, slick heat, slid with aching slowness between the lips of the Doctor's sex.  
  
The Doctor arched her head back, panting, her long throat pale and exposed in the dim river-light.  
  
"Been awhile, has it? Or are you just that greedy?" said the Master. She undid the Doctor's trousers, pulling them down over her hips. "I'm afraid these are going to have to come off, Doctor. How many times have I told you, you really ought to wear skirts more often."  
  
"I hate skirts," said the Doctor, standing awkwardly on one foot and tugging her trousers off over the trainer on the other. "No good for running."  
  
"Suit yourself," said the Master. "You look perfectly ridiculous."  
  
"Go molest somebody else, then," said the Doctor, trying to sound casual and unconcerned, laying her trousers neatly on the railing. "I wasn't exactly planning on this."  
  
"Well, then, you're an idiot," said the Master, fumbling at her own belt buckle. "I don't know what you were expecting."  
  
The Doctor looked back over her shoulder at the Master, and felt her hearts thump in her chest at the sight of her, familiar as ever despite the new body. The Master stood at jaunty attention, tall black boots shining, flies undone to reveal a thick black strap-on in a red leather harness, which she now had one hand wrapped around in anticipation. The Master grinned back at the Doctor.  
  
"Don't you just look like the cat that ate the canary," the Doctor said.  
  
"Enough running commentary," said the Master, "I don't want to hear anything but  _please_  and  _more_  and  _yes_  and  _Master_  out of that smart mouth for awhile."  
  
The Master moved forward, pressing the Doctor's thighs apart with her knee, noting with silent approval how the Doctor's fingers tightened on the railing. Still gripping the silicone cock, she slid the smooth blunt head of it back and forth between the swollen lips of the Doctor's sex, tracing lazy wet circles around her clit. Again and again, with cruel slowness, til the Doctor's legs were shaking, her breath coming fast and hard, sweat beading up on the small of her back.  
  
"You want me," the Master said. "You are so, so hungry for me."  
  
The Doctor moaned, a small, choked, involuntary sound. She rocked her hips, trying to get more friction against the Master's hands and body and that cool slick object pressing up against her, but the Master wouldn't let her.  
  
"I want you to beg," the Master said, pushing the tip of the cock into the Doctor, just enough to tease, holding it there at the mouth of her sex. "Say please."  
  
"Please," said the Doctor, so softly it was barely audible.  
  
"I want to hear it. 'Please, Master.'"  
  
"Please, Master," said the Doctor, breath hitching.  
  
"'Please, Master,' what?" said the Master, her own hearts pounding.  
  
"Please fuck me. Rassilon. Master,  _please_ ," she said, voice low and urgent and choking on need. The Master pushed into her, slow and relentless, and the moan that came from the Doctor's mouth was obscenely glorious.

The Master grasped the Doctor by the hips and drove into her, feeling the other Time Lord arch and buck shamelessly under her hands. She slid her left hand up the Doctor's back, and seized the back of her neck in a bruising grip, bending all her will on the spot, where nerve met brainstem and sense was transmuted into impulse. The Master felt the low electric hum of the Doctor's mind, locked beyond the reach of her telepathic grasp.  
  
"I want to feel it," said the Master. "Let me in, Doctor."  
  
The Doctor closed her eyes, smiling, and pushed her hips back into the Master, letting her deep into her body but keeping the protective wall firmly in place around her mind.  
  
"Doctor," said the Master, baring her teeth, gasping, thrusting harder. "Please, let me, I need it, I need to feel you."  
  
"Mmmmmf," said the Doctor, enjoying the tables being turned.  
  
The Master leaned closer to the Doctor's back, reaching for her clit with her right hand, and began making quick precise circles with the first two fingers, still pushing in vain against the humming obsidian surface of the Doctor's mind.  
  
All at once the Master stopped cold, body rigid, transfixed as if by an electrical current. Her eyes closed and her forehead bent down to press against the Doctor's back, her body momentarily overcome by the intensity of the sensation.  
  
"Don't  _stop_ ," said the Doctor, annoyed and a little bit desperate. "That's what you wanted, right?"  
  
The Master's eyes opened, glazed with lust. "Right," she growled, stroking the Doctor's clit and rocking into her from behind, now slower and deeper and tuned to some relentless internal rhythm. "There, yes, that's it, I can feel it, I can feel me in you. Doctor."  
  
The orgasm began in the Doctor, and struck the Master a half-second later, the force of it echoing back and forth between them for a few moments along the slender psychic tether that was already beginning to unravel by the time the Master's hard joyful shout escaped her lips. A moment later, the Master began to come to her senses again, the slap of the waves against the pier and the sounds of passing boats dimly breaking upon her.  
  
She pulled away from the Doctor, staggering a little, and bent to undo the buckles on the harness that was beginning to dig uncomfortably into her thigh. The Doctor was already pulling her trousers on, looking maddeningly cool and unruffled.  
  
The Doctor extracted a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses from her jacket pocket and put them on. She held up the perception filter dangling from her neck and squinted at it.  
  
"I really hope this thing works," the Doctor said.  
  
The Master snorted. "Check the front page of the  _Sun_  tomorrow, you'll find out," she said.  
  
"I can see the headline now." The Doctor grinned maniacally. "Suppose that would be the end of your promising political career, then, Ms. Harriet Saxon."  
  
The Master snorted. "I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that, Doctor."


End file.
